Capable
by kalea87
Summary: one of the CSIs is a murderer...will he/she get away with it?
1. Anger

Capable  
  
"If there's one thing you learn on this job, it's that human beings are capable of anything."  
  
Chapter One: Anger  
  
I saw them in the grocery store. The little girl was adorable, pulling on her mom's sleeve to show her a favorite cartoon character on a cereal box. But the mother just glared at the girl and grabbed her arm, yelling, "Is that how we behave in public?!" The poor little girl. She didn't deserve that. Not from someone who was suppose to love her unconditionally. Not from anyone.  
  
So when they left the store, I followed them home. The mother needed to stop abusing her child! Someone had to do something, and that someone was me.  
  
The mother had a red sports car. What kind of family car is that? They pulled up to a small gray house and I could see that the mother was still angry. The little girl, with tears running down her tiny cheeks, looked up at her mother and asked her something.  
  
In response, the mother screeched, "Get in your room and stay there!" She slammed the front door behind them.  
  
I pulled on some gloves, walked up to the door, and rang the bell. She answered with a smile on her face.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
I gave her some bull about selling kitchenware and she immediately welcomed me into her home. She showed me around her kitchen, and I nodded and commented at the appropriate times. I took one of the knives when she wasn't looking. She led me out into the living room and when she turned to look at me again, I grabbed her.  
  
"Your daughter deserves better," I growled, and held up the knife. A look of pure shock crossed her face, and she pulled away from me, grabbing for the drawer handle of a nearby end table. But I was stronger than her.  
  
Carefully, easily, I held her still while I cut out her tongue.  
  
"You'll never be able to yell at your daughter again," I said, leaving her writhing on the floor.  
  
I pulled open the drawer on the end table, and sure enough, I found a gun.  
  
"You should really lock this up," I said, taking aim and shooting her through the heart.  
  
I replaced the gun and left through the front door. I went home, changed, and destroyed the evidence, just in time to get to work. I drove fast, but didn't speed. It wouldn't do to get pulled over now.  
  
I turned into the parking lot and found a space quickly. It was all too easy. I pushed through the doors marked 'Las Vegas Crime Lab' and wondered when it would get called in. 


	2. Evidence

AN: thanks for reviewing! I'm trying for short chapters up faster this time, but I'll try to make the rest of the chapters longer than these first two. Just so you know, every other chapter will be in first person (the murderer) and the others will be in third person.  
  
Disclaimer: here's a newsflash - I don't own CSI. Too bad really, but that's how it is. No copyright infringement intended, so don't sue me, please. I'm asking nicely.  
  
"Concentrate on what cannot lie - the evidence."  
  
Chapter Two: Evidence  
  
Another shift had begun. Warrick and Sara were dealing with paperwork from a previous case, and they expected to be done soon. Nick and Catherine had just started working on a new case the night before, and they had a lot of work to do. Greg was backed up farther than ever before since one of the other lab techs was on vacation. The lack of rock music was disheartening. Grissom had just returned from a bug-racing/lecture trip and was waiting for something to get called in. Something was always going down in Vegas.  
  
"Sara, Warrick, we've got a 420. I need you on the case. Catherine and Nick are working on the case from last night." Grissom trailed off.  
  
"It's no problem," Warrick said. "We're virtually done here."  
  
"Ten more minutes, tops," Sara added with a smile. "I can finish mine at home."  
  
"Good, because we've got to get over there. It's going to be a media nightmare."  
  
"Always is," Warrick muttered, as they walked out to face yet another day on the job.  
  
"Vic is 29-year-old Alexis Conant. Her tongue has been cut out, and she was shot through the heart. The daughter, Megan, was in her room for a time out. When she came out, she found her mom like this."  
  
"Oh my god," Sara gasped. "She found her mother like this? She's only.what, six?"  
  
"Five, actually," Brass replied, frowning. "She called 911."  
  
"The poor kid," Warrick said softly, surveying the scene. The mother's body was sprawled on the living room floor in front of the hallway and the cream- colored carpet was stained a deep red around the body. Small red footprints showed the little girl's path through her mother's blood to the kitchen phone. Warrick began taking pictures as Sara looked around more thoroughly.  
  
"We need weapons," she said. "Probably a gun and a knife."  
  
"Kitchen?" Grissom suggested without looking up from the footprints he was studying. "And can we get these shoes?" he asked Brass.  
  
"Already done," the detective answered. "We've got them out here." As Grissom went to check on the shoes, Sara went into the kitchen.  
  
She noted that the little footprints led to the phone and stopped there; the girl might have taken off her shoes or been carried out of the room. There was no other blood visible in the room, but Sara knew it could have been cleaned up. She looked in the sink for a knife, and sure enough, among a few nights' worth of dinner dishes were four paring knives.  
  
Warrick was methodically working his way around the living room when he noticed a spot of blood on the drawer of the end table. Opening the drawer carefully, he saw that it contained a bloodied gun.  
  
"Hey Grissom, we've got a weapon," he announced, removing it from the drawer. 


	3. Puzzles

AN: sorry I haven't updated in so long! I'll try and get the next part out faster, I swear. Thanks for all the reviews! Tell me who you think the murderer is in your reviews, and we'll see who's right. Hehe. This chapter's the POV of the murderer again. Read and review please!  
  
  
  
"We're just a bunch of kids that are getting paid to work on puzzles."  
  
Chapter Three: Puzzles  
  
When work was finally over for the night, I got in my car and started to drive home. Work wasn't very eventful. The homicide was called in sooner than I thought it would be. The gun was checked for prints, but I hadn't left any, of course. It's incredibly stupid to leave your prints at a crime scene. Everyone knows about fingerprinting nowadays. The majority of our criminal population is incredibly dense, but it does make my work easier. The blood from the footprints and the drawer handle went straight to the lab; they were going to run the samples and make sure they are the mother's and not the killer's. It truly astounds me how excessively stupid the criminals in our world can be.  
  
I became a criminalist because I love to solve mysteries. I didn't want to help people, or bring criminals to justice; I just love to solve puzzles. I have subscriptions to every one of those Games magazines, and I solve every puzzle in them. Until now, I didn't realize how much fun it is to solve a puzzle backwards, to know the answer and have to figure out how one could arrive at the answer, like filling in the blanks. I love to watch my colleagues' reactions to crimes. They seem so disgusted and shocked. But to me, it's nothing. It's just another puzzle for me to solve. It's not hard for me to act normally. That's what it is - an act. I was always in the Drama Club at school. I'm a good actor, and no one even suspects that my emotions are anything but sincere. And they all think they know me so well.  
  
The freeway was backing up with traffic, so I decided to get off the freeway and drive through a 'bad' part of town. Hardly anyone was outside, and most people avoided driving through here, since the area is known for gangs. There were some gang members in an alley, tagging the buildings. They reminded me of a case I had worked on involving rival gangs. We had started investigating because of a fatal shooting, but we found so much more by the end. It was a huge interconnecting web of crime, and it was one of the best cases I had ever worked on. A cop even ended up getting killed, and when that happens, everything gets a lot more exciting.  
  
I turned my car around and rolled down the passenger-side window. When I passed the alley again, I took aim and shot one of the teenagers. I saw him go down, and I heard yells from the alley, but by the time the other gang members had reached the street to shoot back, I was gone down a side street, headed for the indoor shooting range I usually go to practice my aim. You never know when a suspect will show up on the scene, and it's better safe then sorry, I always say.  
  
I wonder if that gang was involved in drug dealing or prostitution or murder. I guess we'll find out soon enough. 


	4. Nothing

AN: thanks for reviewing! You guys are the best! Anyway, I have a snow day today (yippie!) so I will try to at least write, if not post the next chapter today. Just so you know, my plan is that when all of you agree that the murderer is NOT one person, I will mention that person in the murderer's POV and basically eliminate one person at a time. So, don't forget to review!  
  
"You're confused." "Yes." "That's the best place for a scientist to be."  
  
Chapter Four: Nothing  
  
"We know the gun was the vic's. It was registered to her and the daughter told police that it was kept in the end table drawer," Grissom announced, as he set the evidence down on the table.  
  
"It wasn't locked up?" Sara asked. "That's unusual."  
  
"Not really," Warrick said. "A lot of parents don't lock up their guns - more than you would think anyway. You've seen the commercials."  
  
Sara nodded.  
  
"Was the knife you found in the sink our other weapon?" Warrick asked.  
  
"Yeah," Sara replied.  
  
"Where's the tongue? Did someone find it?"  
  
"No," Grissom said. "We looked, but no one found it anywhere near the crime scene."  
  
"Well, it's got to be somewhere," Warrick said grimly. "Tongues don't just get up and walk away."  
  
"You don't think the killer...kept it?" Sara asked, shuddering.  
  
"It's been known to happen," Grissom said coolly.  
  
"Ugh. Do we have any suspects or possible motives?" Sara asked, changing the subject.  
  
Grissom sighed. "Not yet."  
  
"What about the girl's father?" Warrick suggested, sifting through the papers on the table. "Do we know anything about him?"  
  
"The daughter says she doesn't know who the father is, but her mother knew."  
  
"And wouldn't tell her or what?"  
  
"Apparently."  
  
"Do you think the father was trying to get custody?" Sara mused.  
  
"But he never tried to be a part of her life before," Warrick protested.  
  
"We don't know that," Grissom said. "All we know is that the daughter, who is only five, if you recall, does not know her father. She says her mother knew who it was, but didn't tell her. That's all the information we have right now."  
  
"Maybe the father doesn't even know she was pregnant," Sara added. "We should go look for clues to who the father is. Pictures or something."  
  
"Hey, Gris," Catherine said, poking her head in the door. "Sorry to interrupt. Nick and I are on our way to process the gang shooting that just got called in. Greg says he needs you in the lab." She turned to address Sara and Warrick. "Any luck?"  
  
"What do you think?" Sara asked sarcastically, gesturing at the slim amount of evidence they had collected.  
  
"Well, I hope Greg's got something good for you. We're off." 


	5. Rain

AN: I realize it's literally been years since I updated, but after a review (thanks, Krysnel Domeri Nicavis!) I went back to the story and discovered that I hadn't posted this! I have the next chapter as well, but after that no promises...

"_There's always a clue."_

Chapter Five: Rain 

Catherine and Nick stood at the entrance to the alley where the shooting had occurred. Deserted except for police officers, the alley was dark and shadowy, illuminated only by flashlights and headlights. They looked at each other.

"Well," Nick said to break the silence, and began to walk into the alley.

"I think it's going to rain," Catherine murmured, looking up.

"This is Las Vegas. It won't rain," Nick said, and felt a drop on his head. "Wonderful," he said. "I hate it when I'm wrong."

"As much as I enjoy it when you're wrong, we're in trouble if we are going to get any evidence from this crime scene." They hurried into the alleyway as the rain began to fall faster and faster.

"David's right over there," Catherine said. "I'll take care of the body, you start on whatever you can."

"Right," said Nick, as Catherine hurried over to the victim. "Hey Brass!" he called.

"Yeah, Nick?"

"This is a gang shooting? There's only one victim and it doesn't look like there was much of a shootout."

"One of the neighbors identified the victim as a prominent gang member and drug dealer. Could've been a drive-by."

"Maybe," Nick said, bending down to pick up a can of spray paint. "Did you guys see anything else in this alley?" he asked Brass as the rain began to fall harder.

"Nope, sorry."

"Alright, thanks," Nick said and started a quick walk-through.

"Hey, David," Catherine shouted over the noise of the rain. "Anything I should know?"

"Vic was shot in the chest, but from the blood on the ground, it looks like he walked around before he died." David pointed, and Catherine immediately took several pictures. The rain was already washing everything away.

"Catherine!" Nick called, coming up behind her. "I can't see anything in this downpour. We should probably just go."

They got into the car, both soaking wet. "Ugh. Did you hear about this on the weather? I heard the usual 'bright, sunny skies!'" Catherine said, wringing out her hair.

"I heard it was supposed to sprinkle – tomorrow."

"Well," Catherine sighed, looking out at the alley. "Our evidence is gone."

"I don't know if there was any to begin with," Nick said. "It was probably a drive-by."

"You don't just shoot once during a drive-by! I didn't see any other bullets, or holes in the wall or anything, did you?"

"No..."

"Pretty good aim, don't you think? For a drive-by, I mean."

"What do _you _think happened, Catherine?" Nick asked, pulling out onto the road.

"I have no idea. Maybe it was an inside thing, someone from his own gang?"

Nick shrugged. "All I know is we've got a lot of work to do."


	6. Schooldays

"You know what I just realized? 

_None of this weirds me out anymore."_

Chapter Six: Schooldays

Rain. I've always liked the rain. It's calming, cleansing. You might find it strange, then, that I live in a desert if I like rain so much. But that's the thing – if I lived somewhere like Seattle where it rained all the time, rain wouldn't be precious.

Of course, when you have a scene to process and evidence to collect, rain is the enemy.

It stopped raining pretty soon after it started – an hour, maybe more, of rain. This morning, when kids were walking to school, clad in mud boots and raincoats, and carrying umbrellas, there were puddles to jump in. But in the afternoon, there was hardly a trace of rain left; it had all evaporated or soaked into the ground, and the kids walking home had nothing to splash in.

I started collecting bugs a few weeks ago. Any bugs, really. After it rained, I found quite a few. I keep them in tanks in the basement, feeding them whatever's around at the time. Mostly, they eat each other.

Work didn't begin for another five hours, and I had got nothing to do. Instead of twiddling my thumbs or watching soap operas, I decided to take a walk.

I walked down three blocks, and over five. I backtracked two blocks and went into a Seven-Eleven, and bought a soda. Then I walked six blocks over, past sixty-five houses, two businesses, and an elementary school. I turned right and walked one hundred steps, then I turned around and went back.

The school was deserted, except for a few girls that remained on the playground, playing hopscotch, under the "watchful eye" of an after-school program supervisor, who was reading a magazine. A boy, probably in fifth or sixth grade, walked by just as the littlest girl was finishing a complicated jumping combination. He was carrying a large instrument case and swung it out as he went by, hitting the girl and knocking her off balance.

"Ouch!" she cried. "Mrs. Jones! Mrs. Jones! Danny pushed me!"

The teacher looked up, sighed, and called, "Danny, leave the girls alone! Get on home," and went back to her magazine.

Danny reached into his bag and, smiling, emptied his water bottle over the girls' hopscotch, ruining their meticulous chalk grid. The girls raised a fuss, but he just laughed and threw the empty bottle their way.

I caught up to the kid just as he was squeezing his band instrument through a gap in the fence surrounding the playground. "Are you sure that's going to fit?" I asked. He jumped at the sound of my voice.

"Uh, yeah." He looked at me suspiciously for a minute, and then started tugging again.

"Want some help?" I asked him, my voice dripping with sugarcoated goodness. I gave him a little smile for good measure.

"Um...alright." To his credit, the kid backed away from me as I stepped closer. At least he wasn't _totally_ oblivious to the don't-talk-to-strangers bit.

As I slid the instrument case past the fence, I said, "What's in this thing anyway?"

"What?" He was starting to look a bit frightened. He glanced back at the school.

"What kind of instrument is this and why didn't you pick something smaller?"

"Uh...I didn't like the smaller ones."

"Mm," I nodded in agreement. "That's a nice necklace you've got there," I said. A small silver coffin hung from his neck on a brown leather cord. I leaned in for a better look. "Are those hinges? Does it open?"

He smiled. "Yeah, it does. It totally flips my mom out too. Wanna see?"

"Totally," I said, grinning. I reached into my pocket for some gloves.


End file.
